


you are the spark in my bonfire heart

by graceless_wolf



Series: 30 Day AU Challenge: Jehan/Bahorel [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Other, nb!Jehan, nonbinary!Jehan, whICH IS A TAG THAT IS SORELY LACKING PPL //CMON//
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 08:41:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1772830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graceless_wolf/pseuds/graceless_wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day One: Hogwarts</p><p>Jehan just sighs again, like this is the most ridiculous thing they've ever seen (they've both seen Enjolras and Grantaire doing their strange little dance around each other, so he knows that's not true). They pluck a worn, leather-bound book from their bag, propping it up on the table. Bahorel watches for a moment, the way the sun from the window catches in Jehan's hair, how the flowers they've braided into it are just strong enough for Bahorel to smell them. He doesn't notice how Jehan reads silently to themself, lips forming the words softly and too quickly for Bahorel to catch what they are. He doesn't do that.</p><p> </p><p>He goes back to reading (and if he glances at Jehan every so often, that's his problem, isn't it?).</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are the spark in my bonfire heart

"You know," a familiar voice says from somewhere behind Bahorel's shoulder, "the ability to conjure a patronus isn't learned from books and studying."

 

Bahorel doesn't even turn towards the voice, just tugs on his tie, trying to loosen the choking feeling. "And what would you know about conjuring a patronus charm?" he asks, instead of the much preferred and much less polite, "Fuck _off_ , Prouvaire."

 

Jehan doesn't even reply, but there's a muttering noise and a flash and then a small bird zooms past his face before flitting out of view again. Bahorel lets out a small exhale.

 

"Is your patronus...a hummingbird?" He asks.

 

" _Maybe_ ," says Jehan defensively, "What about it?"

 

Bahorel can't help the grin that spreads across his face. Despite Jehan's tendency to quote ridiculously pretentious poets (and Bahorel's insistent refusal to admit that he recognizes each and every quote) and their cat, who is the bane of Bahorel's (and all of their friends') existence, they actually are a rather fun person to talk with.

 

"Nothing," Bahorel says, "It suits you."

 

" _Quiet_ ," Enjolras says, walking past them both. "You're in the library."

 

"Sorry, Head Boy," Jehan snorts at the same time Bahorel says, "Wait, weren't you banned from the library in, like, second year?"

 

Enjolras colors faintly, "Head Boy privileges." He walks away then, probably off to terrorize some first years, and Bahorel and Jehan are back to resolutely not looking at each other. Or rather, Jehan is looking at him, he knows that much. So really, Bahorel is back to staring at his book and Jehan is back to staring at the back of Bahorel's head.

 

"You are the most stubborn man I have ever met," Jehan mutters, moving forward to claim the chair adjacent to where Bahorel is sitting at the end of the small table. "You could just ask for help."

 

"Don't need help," Bahorel says, still looking at the book, "I'll figure it out."

 

Jehan just sighs, and Bahorel finally raises his gaze a little to look at them. They've got their hair in a loose braid today, and they've paired the Ravenclaw sweater with flowered skinny jeans and "That _cannot_ be regulation," Bahorel says, aware that he's blushing, just a little.

 

"Enjolras didn't say anything," Jehan points out, plucking at a loose seam on the jeans in question, "And besides, when have you ever cared about regulation." They gesture vaguely to Bahorel's loosened tie, and Bahorel knows his shirt is untucked and the first two buttons of his shirt are undone, but he's been in the library all day, _okay?_

 

"It's stuffy in here," he says.

 

Jehan just raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him. "You're not going to manage a patronus from books and library dust. Combeferre and I? Possibly. Books provide happy memories for the both of us. But there is no way in Merlin's pants _you_ are ever going to benefit from this."

 

Bahorel knows they're right. They usually are, but that's not important. The matter is of principle now, and he's got to prove Jehan wrong.

 

When he doesn't move, Jehan just sighs again, like this is the most ridiculous thing they've ever seen (they've both seen Enjolras and Grantaire doing their strange little dance around each other, so he knows that's not true). They pluck a worn, leather-bound book from their bag, propping it up on the table. Bahorel watches for a moment, the way the sun from the window catches in Jehan's hair, how the flowers they've braided into it are just strong enough for Bahorel to smell them. He doesn't notice how Jehan reads silently to themself, lips forming the words softly and too quickly for Bahorel to catch what they are. He doesn't do that.

 

He goes back to reading (and if he glances at Jehan every so often, that's his problem, isn't it?).

 

\--

 

"You are the most insufferable prat, I've ever met. Do you actually hear what you're saying most of the time or does it just sound sort of like a white noise in your head?" Enjolras spits.

 

Grantaire raises his eyebrows, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize that the same man who wants to change the world -- and then took an internship at the _Ministry of Magic_ , where he'll do nothing but grunt work -- was the go-to guy for sound fucking advice."

 

"You know why I took that internship, don't--"

 

"Don't what, Apollo? Don't tell you exactly what I think? Don't tell you that we both know you're better than that? That you could do _so much fucking better_? Sorry, but no."

 

"God," Courfeyrac whines, collapsing on the bed between Bahorel and Combeferre, "it's like they don't even realize what they're _actually_ talking about."

 

"How long have they been going at it?" Jehan asks, walking in. Enjolras' and 'Taire's voices are still coming up the stairs, but the rest of Les Amis are hiding away in the Gryffindor dorm.

 

"'Bout an hour," Feuilly says, pushing a pillow into Jehan's hands, "Please smother me with this."

 

"Wait," Bahorel says, throwing a quill at Courfeyrac's head, "What are they _actually_ talking about?"

 

Courf grins up at him, but it's more than a little tired. He sits up, tugging the Hufflepuff beanie from his head and leaning more against Combeferre, who just shifts to accommodate him. "They're really talking about how this internship means Enjolras has a concrete plan and R doesn't, so now he's terrified because he thinks that Enjolras isn't just leaving, he's leaving him."

 

"He's not," 'Ponine says, from her position on the floor, "He'd never."

 

Gavroche – Eponine’s brother, a first-year Gryffindor – frowns, “Enjolras loves R, right? That’s what it seems like. Even if he did leave, it would never be for good.”

 

"Exactly," says Joly, "but it does sort of look like it, from Grantaire's perspective."

 

"For fuck's sake," Bossuet groans. Everyone murmurs their agreements.

 

Conversations carry on for a few moments -- mostly about classwork and their upcoming N.E.W.T.S. and then Jehan sits up and hisses, "Listen."

 

They do. There's nothing.

 

"Did they leave?" Marius asks skeptically.

 

"Doubt it," Courf says, smirking, "Hold on."

 

He slips off the bed and literally skips to the door to peer down the stairs. From their position in the room, the rest of the group sees him pause, before turning back towards them and pumping his fist in the air in silent victory. This, of course, makes all of them hurry as quietly as possible to the stairs as well. They aren't that quiet, to be honest, but Enjolras and Grantaire don't seem to notice.

 

This is possibly because they're too busy making out.

 

"This is either the worst or best thing ever," Combeferre mutters.

 

"Come on, 'Ferre," Courf whispers, "Be an optimist.” Then he sighs, “I wish I had someone to aggressively make out with in the Hufflepuff common room,” and absolutely no one looks at Combeferre.

 

Bossuet snorts, and Joly says, "That cannot be sanitary."

 

"Live a little, _Jolllly_ ," Bahorel grins, bumping him with his elbow gently.

 

"I didn't know E was that flexible," Eponine hisses, and Cosette counters with, "I did, we do yoga together."

 

 _"Enjolras_ does _yoga?"_ Feuilly asks.

 

"And he _still_ hasn't gotten the stick out of his ass?" Bossuet adds.

 

"Shh, all of you," Courf says, " _Watch_."

 

There's a sudden pause, and then Marius says, "Wait. _Why_ are we watching this?"

 

Enjolras fumbles with the last button on Grantaire's shirt, and they all make a break for it.

 

\--

 

"Have you managed a patronus charm, yet?" Jehan asks, and Bahorel is so startled he almost falls off the library chair.

 

"No," he grumbles. "Quit it."

 

"Quit what?" Jehan asks, leaning over Bahorel's shoulder (they smell like soft flowers and the mint soap from the Prefect's bathroom) (Not that he's paying attention to that).

 

"Quit hovering," Bahorel groans, "You're not making this any easier."

 

Jehan just smiles at him, draping themself more comfortably over Bahorel's shoulder to read from the book he's reading. Bahorel flicks the blue and bronze tie off his shoulder. "You should tuck that in, you know."

 

"What are you," Jehan snorts, "the uniform police, now? These boots aren't regulation either, but I'm not going to let some oppressive set of rules made by witches and wizards hundreds of years ago dictate how I dress."

 

Bahorel laughs -- a little loudly, if the librarian's _"Hush!"_ is anything to go by -- and leans back more comfortably against Jehan's chest.

 

"You've been spending too much time with Enjolras," he points out.

 

Jehan rolls their eyes, flipping the page of the book.

 

"Hey! I wasn't done reading that."

 

"Read faster."

 

\--

 

He starts thinking about Jehan when he's trying to conjure his patronus. At first, he had thought of his friends and the memories he had with them, but it wasn't enough. He didn't feel bad about that, it just wasn't. He didn't mind.

 

And it's not like Jehan really gave him a choice, they were around every single time he was in the library. He was beginning to think it was a conspiracy theory.

 

He closes his eyes and thinks really hard that it’s perfectly alright to find Jehan attractive, and to have a crush on him. That’s alright, right? It’s not like he has to do anything about it, really, but it’s alright that he feels that way. He’s not really sure why giving himself this pep talk is so important, but he does it anyways. It makes him feel better in a weird “I have no clue what I’m doing or how I even got put into Gryffindor, but I’m making it fucking work” sort of way.

 

He inhales.

 

Jehan sitting in the chair across from him, face contorting expressively in reaction to the book they were reading. Jehan brushing their copper-red hair out of their face, a single flower falling out from behind their ear and onto the page. Jehan huffing a breath and tucking the flower back into place.

 

He exhales.

 

Jehan laughing and chatting animatedly with Combeferre. They were discussing poetry, Bahorel remembers, but he remembers more vividly the way Jehan had thrown themself across the couch in the Ravenclaw common room (they switched around most nights, where they hung out, what with their group being scattered across all four houses). They had collapsed across the couch, and Bahorel had been worried for just a second, until they flourished a pointer finger at Combeferre and declared him to be a traitor to the literary world.

 

He lifts his wand.

 

Jehan reading over his shoulder, their hair just brushing his cheek. Jehan frowning at the same book, declaring it dry, boring, and far too academic, but reading it alongside Bahorel anyways. Jehan’s arms, wrapped loosely around his shoulders, their chin digging into his shoulder, chest pressed warmly to Bahorel’s back.

 

Jean Prouvaire working their way into Bahorel’s life and thoughts and under his skin and he isn’t sure how to stop them; isn’t sure if he actually wants to.

 

“ _Expecto_ _patronum_ ,” he says quietly, but it echoes off the walls of the empty classroom.

 

A silvery shape explodes from the tip of his wand, making a lap around the room before returning to him. It’s beautiful, it’s more than he ever expected, it’s—

 

“A _lion_?” Jehan’s voice says from the doorway, “Are you kidding me? You could not be any more of a stereotype, ‘Rel.”

 

“Hey,” Bahorel says, but it’s breathless, and he’s smiling.

 

“He is beautiful.” Jehan admits, hopping up to sit on one of the desks. “Go, _go_ , Gryffindor,” they tease, resting their chin on their knees.

 

“Yes,” Bahorel agrees, “He is.”

 

The lion dissipates into silvery dust.

 

The room is quiet for a moment, but it’s nice. Bahorel is still more than a little stunned that he did it, he actually did that. Jehan breaks the quiet, saying, “What were you thinking about?”

 

“Uh,” Bahorel says, “I – I have to go,” and then he’s running from the room.

 

\--

 

“What did you do to Jehan?” Eponine says, smacking a book upside the back of Bahorel’s head.

 

He frowns up at her, rubbing at the back of his head.

 

“Come on,” she says, “You did something. They’ve been ridiculously quiet, and they’ve also been spending an inordinate amount of time with you. Now you’re both sulking and I _know_ the two things are correlated so why don’t you just go up there and apologize? Because, I swear to _God_ , ‘Rel—”

 

“I think I’m in love with Jehan.”

 

Immediately after the words hit the air, he wants to pluck them out of the atmosphere and put them back in his head (except he didn’t even know they were _in_ his head. I mean, sure, he had a vague idea? But _love? What?)._

 

“You’re in _what_ with _who_?” Eponine hisses.

 

Bahorel just drops his head to the table, saying pitifully, “Help me.”

 

\--

 

“I have gathered you all here today to discuss a Very Important Matter ™.” Eponine announces.

 

“This is not at all what I meant when I asked for your help.” Bahorel says. “Just so you know.”

 

Eponine smiles graciously at him, “Oh, darling, I know.”

 

“What are we doing here?” Combeferre asks, for the third time. “And why only us six?”

 

“Well,” Eponine says, “I’m here because I’m the leader; Combeferre, you’re here because you’ll _probably_ keep us from breaking the law; Courf is here because I know he’ll have a bunch of ideas; Feuilly is here because Bahorel actually listens to him, God knows why. Grantaire is here because he’s funny and I needed someone with wit almost as sharp as mine—” Grantaire raises his glass to her at that, “—and I’m not actually sure why Enj is here. He must have followed R. And Bahorel is here because he is the one with the actual problem.”

 

“It’s not a problem,” Bahorel interrupts, and Eponine coos.

 

“Aw, you’re adorable. Of course it isn’t. Love is never a problem.”

 

Courfeyrac perks up at that. “Bahorel’s in love? With who? Do I know them? What house? What’s their name? How tall are they? Eye color? _Hair_ color? Favorite sea creature? When they--”

 

Combeferre places a hand over Courf’s mouth.

 

“Carry on,” he says.

 

Bahorel pauses for a minute, but then says, “Fuck it. Yes, I am. Yes, you do. Ravenclaw. No. Shorter than me, but taller than Marius. What the fuck am I, a tape measure? Greenish-grey. Red. In _what_ universe is that relevant?”

 

“Oh my god,” says Enjolras, “You’re in love with Jehan.”

 

“I knew it! Man,” Courfeyrac says, “why isn’t anyone tragically in love with me?”

 

Everyone looks at Combeferre. Combeferre looks at the wall.

 

“For fuck’s sake,” says Grantaire.

 

“We need a plan,” Eponine says, loudly, “because Bahorel is the weakest son of a--”

 

“I am not,” Bahorel exclaims, gesturing wildly.

 

“Then just go tell Jehan that--”

 

“Tell Jehan what?” says Jehan.

 

“We’re getting you a bell,” Grantaire says. Jehan gives that the flat look of a response that it deserves.

 

“What the _fuck_ are _you_ doing here?” Feuilly says, and Jehan only looks hurt for a moment, but quickly snaps back into composure.

 

“Joly told me he saw you all headed in here,” Jehan explains, “and tell me what, Bahorel?”

 

“I--,” Bahorel begins, and then glances at the door.

 

Jehan moves in front of it, effectively blocking his path. “Oh no, you aren’t pulling that shit again. What were you thinking of that could have been so bad? It had to be a happy memory or the spell wouldn’t have worked. Was it sex? You can tell me if it was sex. God knows I’ve fielded enough questions from ‘Ferre and Enjolras.”

 

The two in question both make noises of protest, but Eponine waves them off. Courfeyrac pats Combeferre’s leg reassuringly.

 

“What was it that you couldn’t tell me about? I really thought we were friends, but—”

 

“It was you,” Bahorel says, too loudly, and the entire pub goes quiet.

 

“What?” Jehan asks.

 

“I was thinking of you,” says Bahorel, much more quietly, “to conjure the patronus. I was thinking about you. I’m sorry.”

 

Jehan doesn’t respond, so Bahorel turns to go, only to find Eponine and Courfeyrac blocking his path. The raise an eyebrow at him simultaneously. It’s more than a little terrifying. Courf waves his hand towards Jehan and Eponine mouths, do it.

 

 _“Fine_ ,” he grumbles, “I’m going to kill both of you. Slowly.”

 

Jehan is looking at him, an expression on their face that Bahorel only sees for a moment before his shuts his eyes tightly, “And also-I-think-I’m-in-love-with-you.”

 

Before he can try and run for it, Eponine and Courf each have ahold of his arms, and he’s pretty much being held in place purely for the fact that he can’t get loose unless he actually wants to hurt either of them. Which he doesn’t. He thinks.

 

He stares resolutely at the ceiling, not looking anywhere close to Jehan. Which is probably why he jumps a little bit when they throw their arms around him.

 

“Oh my god,” they mutter into his neck, “You’re such an _idiot_.” And then ‘Ponine and Courf are gone and Bahorel is winding his arms around Jehan’s waist without even thinking about it.

 

“What does that even mean?” he whispers carefully.

 

“It means,” Jehan says, “that you are an oblivious idiot, and I’m in love with you, too, asshole.”

 

Then Jehan kisses him and their friends start cheering. Bahorel smiles into the soft catch of the kiss. Jehan tastes like mint toothpaste and butter beer and Bahorel doesn’t ever want to let go of them. Jehan pulls away for just a moment, taking a breath and running a hand through Bahorel’s hair, tugging lightly. He basically melts.

 

“That’s so adorable,” Courfeyrac says, “I wish I could get a sappy love confession.”

 

“Oh my god, _I’m in love with you_!” exclaims Combeferre.

 

“That works,” Courf says, grinning wildly, before tackling Combeferre to the ground.

 

The lady behind the bar starts when Gavroche clambers out from beneath it. Then she just sighs, “Does this happen often with this lot, then?”

 

Gavroche wrinkles his nose, “One of them says something dumb and then they kiss? Yeah. Three times in the last two weeks, actually.”

 

She just sighs and pours them both a butter beer.

**Author's Note:**

> say hey on tumblr @coeurfeyrrac!


End file.
